Hangman, Hangman
by KingRabbit
Summary: Eighty-five. The number rang loudly in my ears as my stake bit into the creature's heart, effectively ending its life. Eighty-five. That's how many times I should have died. I should be dead. Why wasn't I dead? (AU, Yullen/Arekan, multiple types of supernatural creatures, M just in case)
1. Prologue

**I know I really shouldn't be starting a new story when I still need to update all my other ones (which shall be soon, I promise), but the idea wouldn't leave me alone for some reason. Well, here ya go. Enjoy.**

**PoV is Allen's.**

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_Eighty-five. The number rang loudly in my ears as my stake bit into the creature's heart, effectively ending its life. Eighty-five. That's how many times I should have died. _

_I should be dead. Why wasn't I dead?_

_Withdrawing the stake, I rolled my shoulders, forcing the stiff joints to relax as the body before me slumped to the cold cement floor. I waited impatiently for the tell-tale sign of the death of the creature. I was rewarded for it after a few minutes and the body began crumpling into a fine ash. Kneeling down, I filled a small pouch full of the substance, gagging at the thought of touching it. When the task was complete, I rose back up before scattering the remnants. Narrowing my eyes, I turned and slipped back the way I came, crawling between what was left of the broken window, doing my best to avoid cutting myself on the sharp edges of glass. I still ended up with a shallow cut across my left cheek, adding to the vertical scar that already marred the flesh. Irritation flared through me for a moment before I could help myself, acutely aware of the thin line of blood that made a slow descent down my skin. I brushed it away, knowing I only made it worse by smearing it. _

_I kept my stake out, knowing the creatures I hunted often traveled in pairs. And by creatures, I referred to vampires. The bad kind. There were four types of them in the world. The first was the classic rip-out-your-throat-to-drink-your-blood with red eyes and the dirty look that said they hadn't bathed since they were turned._

_Then there was the "civilized" kind that fed without killing and often kept human feeders around as a food source, and like the their insane cousins, had red eyes, or at the least, the ring surrounding them. _

_The third type were half-vamps. Either they were born to a human and vampire parent, or had drunk the blood of the creature without donating their own. It let them take the best of both worlds, with only the occasional need for blood when their own was depleted, e.g.: bleeding half to death, etc. _

_The fourth and final, was the humans with recessive genes, either from having an ancestor that was a vampire, or had an open wound come in direct contact with the blood of a vampire. They were lucky and shouldn't even have their own category, seeing as they were still alive and normal and most times didn't even know about the gene. Turning was as low as five percent or less._

_I fell into the third category. Hurray for me, I thought with a sigh. Being half-vampire was fine and all, and it made me the perfect weapon against the monsters that made up the image of the entire race, but it also left me very vulnerable. My mix of blood, running so strong with human and vampire traits, was like liquid gold, to every creature. Taking even a drop held all the benefits without endangering the receiver with the vampire virus. More than once I had learned this. It wasn't until…_

_I unconsciously raised a hand and held it to the hollow of my throat, feeling the raised lines of a golden tattoo blooming across my skin. It was the only thing that kept anyone with an interest in my blood from acquiring it. To touch me was like asking for death. And those that didn't understand, or ignored, the warning, I dispatched myself. It was a mark saying I was the… "property" of another, very powerful vampire. This almighty irritation was one of the "civilized" vampires – meaning he had more creative ways to kill you without actually getting blood on his clothes. _

_Again, the number eighty-five flashed through my mind. That was how many times I should have died, had I not been claimed as the personal entrée for someone quite high in the food chain. _

_I shivered at the thought. I could have done worse, but I could probably have bid myself for someone even better – or at least someone with a better attitude. But manners aside, if there were any at all, I knew I was in safe claws, er, hands. At least, as safe as I could be under his protection. But that didn't leave me defenceless – far from it. I was a Hunter – born and bred (figuratively speaking) to kill any creature that would threaten me, or my benefactor. _

_Looking up at the sky, I watched the dawn light soak the land in bloody colors. I frowned, remembering that old rhyme for sailors. _Red sky at night, a sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.

_I could feel a tingle in the back of my mind and knew I was being summoned. Neither my benefactor nor myself would ignore an omen like this. I just wondered if it meant the war would be starting soon._

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**So, yeah. Tell me what you think. Can anyone guess what might happen from here on out, or anything at all? Take a thought and we'll see, yeah? Anyway, reviews are always appreciated, especially for prologues and pilot chapters like this.  
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	2. Chapter 1: Curse

**Well, here's an update. I'm trying to work on The King and His Men, but it's being stubborn. *cries***

**Anyway, this is just a start, so if you're confused, just know that everything will get cleared up the further along the story goes. **

**Warning: UnBeta'd because I'm a lazy bum. So if you see mistakes or anything, do your best to ignore it.**

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**Chapter 1: Curse**

_Hangman, Hangman, slack your line,_

_Slack it for just a while._

'_Cuz I think I see my papa comin',_

_He's travelin' many a mile. _

_He's travelin' many a mile…_

_._

.

.

The bite hurt, as it always did, but the feelings that followed made it hard to complain. They were beyond ecstasy, beyond any pleasure – sex included. Even sex with the one biting him now. It made his core ache with something beyond a physical pleasure. A longing, a need. Desire. Hunger. Craving.

His body immediately reacted, setting out to be more accommodating. The position didn't matter, it never did. He could be upside down, laying at a painfully crooked angle. None of it mattered. So long as he felt that bite, it was all that mattered. All that his body cared for. And his mind? His mind was numb, dizzy, burning and yet, chilled to a halt. It was fine as well. He shifted, nails digging into the wooden vanity, leaving deep grooves. Hands covered his own, smoothing out his fingers before he could break a nail. He'd done it in the past and once the endorphins left his system, it had been painful and bloody. His breathing came quick, to the point of hyperventilating. His body began to shake. It was enough of a sedative that could dizzy a horse. It was too much for a human. He was no exception this. It washed over him, overwhelmed him.

Not that he was complaining.

He licked his lips, gasping out. Spots appeared in his vision and he closed his eyes, sighing as he slowly convulsed, body possessed by the pleasure. The first time he'd been bitten, exactly seven years prior to that day, he passed out in seconds. Now he can stay awake for almost a minute. It didn't seem to be much on its own, but it was quite an accomplishment.

But now, now that minute mark was almost up, and he could already feel his conscious disconnected from his body. He forced open his eyes, staring up at the ceiling before, with a long, drawn and content sigh, closed them again.

Time passed quickly for Allen, so lost and adrift on his high. It was noon when he woke, dropped carelessly onto a firm bed with a comforter thrown half-hazardly across his body. The sun was high in the sky, peeking in between the cracks in the shades and laying warm strips across the floor. He peeked over his shoulder, having awoken on his side. The other side of the room was bathed in almost complete darkness, and huddled under a thick fleece blanket like a child, was his benefactor. He could tell from his stillness and lack of comments on the staring that he was asleep. His long raven hair was all that was visible, one lock mere inches from the sun. Allen quickly moved it. Sitting up, he swept his feet out from under the blankets and stood, stretching to the point of his joints popping. He sighed, relaxed. Turning, he tossed the comforter over the creature still in bed, covering him completely. He didn't need to worry about him getting hot, as he didn't feel temperature. Nor was he too concerned about him suffocating. Good riddance.

He walked to a wardrobe, going through one of the drawers and pulling out simple clothes – tweed trousers, a white cotton button-up. With the articles in hand, he made his way to the bathroom and slipped languidly into. He shivered a bit, making a racket as he always did when the cold water touched his warm skin. He wasn't worried about waking the dead man sleeping in the bed. Only the night and absence of daylight could bring him back to life.

Allen thought about his benefactor, as he so often did, though not always in a kindly light. Well, never in a kindly light in fact.

Kanda Yuu – never to be called by his given name unless requesting a painful death. Prickly like a cactus, and to the point – no pun intended. Handsome, though Allen was sure that he plucked his eyebrows, and tall; lean and muscled. And ego the size of a weather balloon and a nasty attitude like a lightning storm waiting for you to hold up a copper rod to go with it. Admittedly, his quieter sides had a hold on him as well, and there was a stillness at his chore that belied what he was. Someone wouldn't think to fine it there, but it was, calm and true, no rippled to the surface. His anger rarely lasted long enough to shatter that mirror. Allen had glimpsed it at times. It worried him. He thought he knew Kanda, only to see that stillness and lose sight of the image he'd formed.

But, in the end, it wasn't his concern. All he had to do was make sure he be a good dog and come when called, play fetch, and roll over. Though his "Master" had yet to get him to stop biting back. Clicking his tongue, Allen turned off the cold water and stepped out onto a towel. Wiping his body off, he shook the towel vigorously in his hair, glad it wasn't long enough to tangle. Afterward, he slipped into the clothes he's brought in with him, foregoing underwear. He was usually the only one awake this time of day anyway.

He wondered the house mindlessly, humming a mix of tunes under his breath like it was nobody's business. And it wasn't. He only had to concern himself with the servants, and they were easy to ignore, silent and quick as they were. Allen called them ghosts, because, well, that's what they were. Something to glimpse from the corner of your eye, but no more.

Them, and _her._

His tune stopped at the thought, his Hunter ways carved into his bones – literally. Charms that bound him to the ways of the clan. Not that he needed the Ancient Words scrawled into his skeleton to bind him to what he's been told since birth, him more so than others. Her face formed in his mind and his stomach clenched painfully, his shoulders stiffening with tension.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to relax. "It's out of my hands," he told himself as he made his way down the grand staircase.

"What's out of your hands?"

Allen started, eyes snapping to the front door. Almost as if he had summoned her with his thoughts, she had appeared out of thin air. Her blue-green hair was in one long braid down her back, and her face was bright, while her eyes were narrowed on him. Another game.

"Lenalee, I didn't hear you come in," Allen replied coolly, cocking his head.

"You don't make a very good Hunter, Allen." Lenalee clips. "Perhaps to the point that even the occupants of this house should be concerned, if you didn't even know I was here before entering the door."

Allen shrugged off her accusation and walks the final few steps before making his way over to her and taking luggage. "Or maybe I'm just too used to you."

"Why so disappointed? Jealous?"

Allen's teeth snapped together with an audible sounds, nearly biting off his tongue. She winced, knowing she's gone too far on that one. Her narrowed eyes softened, and her face turned apologetic. "Sorry, Allen. I didn't mean–"

"It's fine," he says, cutting her off. He takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, before releasing it in a "pah" sound. He smiles at her. "It's not like you're the one at fault here. It's how it turned out."

She giggles and leads the way down a hallways, Allen dragging along the luggage. "Oh, welcome home, by the way," he says, swatting at her braid. "Though you are home early."

"Ma got ill with fever, so she sent me and brother away so we didn't catch it." Lenalee replies. There's a note in her voice that makes Allen wonder if she's not holding something back. He doesn't press her, though his curiosity is hammering at him to do so. Besides, he had other things crowding his mind as it was.

"Sorry about earlier. I didn't mean anything by asking if you were jealous." She says, almost as if reading his thoughts.

"Don't be," Allen says.

_Jealous…_ Allen sneered at the thought. He wasn't jealous. But he couldn't, so tightly bound to his Hunter ways, accept the marriage between a human and a vampire. He didn't care if it was political, if it was settlement, or even if it was love. Humans and vampires were never supposed to interact. It was wrong and dangerous.

But Lenalee and Kanda… that was different. He had to accept it. Because the only alternative was her death. Not turning, not by the decree of the clan, but death. And while death was merciful, it went against what we were trained for – to protect humans. And only because Kanda knew when to yield and when to move when it came to the clan was the notion even fulfilled. That and the fact that, as tainted as I was by my birth, I would be here to protect her. And protect her I would – even against my benefactor.

No, jealousy had nothing to do with it.

Just Lenalee being in the wrong place at the wrong time and happening across the wrong vampire and finding out a secret everyone in on it thought was well kept. Just a series of unfortunate events.

"Allen?"

"Hn?" Allen looked up, blinking the thoughts from his vision. Lenalee was standing before a servant, a light frown on her face. "What?"

"You really are a bad Hunter," she says with a roll of her eyes. "I asked if you want anything to eat. From the bruising on your neck, I imagine you must be fairly hungry."

His hand automatically goes to the spot on his neck where Kanda bit him. He nods.

"Have a lunch spread brought to the parlor," She tells the servant. He nods and disappears though a small door hidden behind a curtain. She turns to Allen. "Shall we?"

He motions for another servant to take Lenalee's luggage to her room before following her to the brightly lit parlor room. The curtains have been pulled aside and the sun shines in through the wide windows. The courtyard and gardens can be glimpsed, sprawling wide and colorful.

When they're alone, Allen looks at her straight. She shakes her head. "If there's any factions starting, then they're tight-lipped. Invitation only. No rumors. I can't very well start asking around without raising suspicion."

Allen clicks his tongue and leans back in his chair. All the omens were calling for something to happen. But he couldn't move without having something to go on. And he couldn't get the clan involved without something concrete. And gut feelings and superstitions were not concrete evidence. Even the decrease in attacks by rovers – the worst kind of vampire – was not enough to raise alarm. Though it certainly set him and his benefactor on edge.

With a sigh, a gave her a tired and strained smile. "Is it too wishful to think that they would just crawl out of whatever gutter they're in and hand themselves over?"

Lenalee gave returned his expression with one in kind. "I daresay it is." Her face darkened and he knew before she spoke what words were on her tongue. "Though, if there is anything going on, _they_ certainly will know."

Allen frowned. "The one place I'm not allowed to be and it might be the one place I need to get to."

"I suggest you suck up mightily to my dear husband."

"Even if my pride could stomach, I feel as if it would still be a hopeless endeavor."

Lenalee sighs in agreement. "Even if I had only been there very few times, it's not someplace I want to make regular visits to."

Allen frowned, "I've never been there, but I heard their library is a wonder in itself."

Lenalee turned wistful, "Oh, it is. But the books are the only light that place holds."

He hummed thoughtfully as the servants knocked and entered with trays of food. While they set about preparing the spread, Allen wondered about what kind of answers he could find if he went through the documents they kept. Secrets, generations of secrets that Hunters would die to find out. And it was all written and neatly filed away in alphabetical order. And the books, oh the books. He'd had his elders describe the library to him in detail and he's dreamed of it since.

"I doubt my dear husband will even considering wondering around the Black Order with you, not with the value you have." She delivers the last part of her sentence with bitterness. And he knows how she feels. He was a commodity, a rarity. And the Black Order was a nest of vampires that would pay any price to even smell his blood, let alone taste it. It was a curse. A curse he couldn't lift, no matter if he went to the most powerful warlocks in the land.

His parents made their choices and he had to live with the consequences.

But then an idea forms in his head, one his pride gags on. It was low for him, and would lower him into being nothing but a blood whore in his own eyes, but if that meant getting into the Black Order, it might just be bearable.

He knew, even before the plan finished blooming, that it would fail.

He sighed, "why must your husband be so difficult?"

Lenalee gave him a sympathetic look as she raised a jam-covered biscuit to her mouth. "You tell me, you've known him longer."

"Three days doesn't count."

She just giggles as she bites down into the bread.

.

.

.

_Hangman, Hangman, slack your line,_

_Slack it for just a while._

'_Cuz I think I see my papa comin',_

_He's travelin' many a mile. _

_He's travelin' many a mile…_

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**Welp, that's the end of that chapter. Next should be... in who knows how long. Anyway, hope everyone had a good Easter. Reviews would be much appreciated!  
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